


A Prince By Any Other Name

by TrekFaerie



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Female Thorin, Gender Confusion, Gender Issues, Interspecies, Language Barrier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 02:16:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrekFaerie/pseuds/TrekFaerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil learns a very important lesson in the importance of accurate translation when interacting with foreign cultures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Prince By Any Other Name

**Author's Note:**

> i have no fucking idea what i am doing
> 
> i should just accept that i'm bad at porn and move on with my life
> 
> i am sorry, hobbit fandom. i tried. i love you.

The visit to Erebor was to be a dull and boring affair, mere courtesy followed by dull celebration and a return home with nothing lost and nothing gained. But, Thranduil had forgotten about (or, more realistically, had never even considered) something very important: the passage of time in a mortal life.

In the timeless time that had passed since Thranduil’s last visit to the Lonely Mountain, another had been added into the royal line: a prince, Thorin, who stared back at the Elvenking with all the boldness as befitting his station. He found it hard to concentrate on whatever business he was supposed to be conducting—particularly since the lovely boy steadfastly refused to break his gaze. When the time came for the welcoming feast, he managed a seat next to the young prince, who never looked away even well into his cups.

After many hours and many cups of strong dwarf ale—a poor substitute for elvish wine, of course, but Thranduil would hardly complain— the prince had lead the Elvenking out of his grandfather’s hall and away from the celebrations, and into one of the many vast yet deserted corridors of the underground castle.

The prince kissed roughly, beard scratching Thranduil’s fair skin, but he found that he didn’t mind very much, not as broad hands gripped his arms to bring him that much closer. Thranduil managed to free one of his arms as he dropped to his knees, tracing down from the collar of his tunic to the band of his breeches. He slipped a lithe hand into Thorin’s trousers, cupping—

Well.

He wasn’t sure what he had expected.

There were rumors about dwarfs, of course, and in Thranduil’s time he had heard nearly all of them. Some said that there were no female dwarfs, and that they sprung, fully formed, from the same stone they dwelled under. Others said they were locked away, either beauties beyond compare or hideous creatures. Whatever Thranduil had believed about dwarfs before he arrived in Erebor, before he found himself rutting with the crown prince in a curiously silent hall, it was all shattered when he discovered that the dark, handsome young lad he had been smitten with was, most definitely, female.

Still flushed and breathing hard, Thorin stared foggy-eyed at Thranduil, apparently not noticing his unabashed shock. “Why did you stop?” he—she asked, her hands tentatively grasping his shoulders, as if worried that he was planning on leaving her there.

Even a life as long-lived as Thranduil’s hadn’t prepared him for such an occasion. He was unsure how he was supposed to react, until he realized that, in the end, there was really only one way to react.

He undid Thorin’s trousers, lowered them to her knees, and, glancing up at the clouded face, kissed her in the spot that had caused so much confusion.

Thick fingers pulled roughly at his hair as he licked her open, and though her taste was new to him—muskier than elven girls, though less tart—he felt as if he were in more comfortable territory, now. Surely dwarf girls were similarly done as any other—and when the fingers tightened to the point of pain and leg wrapped around his shoulder spasmed, his thoughts were proven true.

She sagged, boneless, but he kept her upright with one hand, the other bringing up her trousers to a more respectable level. He gave her a quick kiss, so she could taste herself on his lips, and leaned to whisper in her ear. “I assume you know where to find more suitable quarters?”

“Follow me, my king,” she said, and she took him by the hand, which seemed such a quaint gesture in the grand scheme of things, but only endeared her to him further.

They made their way to what he assumed was her chambers, plainer than the other rooms of the palace, methodical and clean. She began to undress herself with a sort of strange fastidiousness, kicking her shoes and trousers away and unfastening her tunic with a deftness Thranduil had never seen in a maiden—which, above all else, clued him into the fact that while he was dealing with a woman, he was most definitely not dealing with a maiden.

Clothes shed, she started on her underclothes: a plain cloth around her hips and a tight band wrapped around her chest, the kind he saw women archers use to keep themselves out of the way of their bows. Even without the band, Thorin’s chest was modest, as was the rest of her—truly, ignoring the obvious, Thorin’s naked body seemed no different than what he assumed a male dwarf’s naked body would.

Thorin met his eye and, for the first time since they had started, seemed embarrassed, though it came off more as anger than anything else. “I know I look little like the elven maids you’re used to bedding,” she said, her voice stiff, “but you do not need to stare so.

He cocked his head to one side and sat down on the furs of her bed, beckoning her to sit next to him. When she didn’t, he said, “You think so lowly of me, O Prince Under the Mountain?”

“I know not what to think, O Elvenking,” she said, a hint of mockery in her reply. “You stare as if I’m some strange beast you’ve found in your wood. Since the hall, you’ve stared. You stare as if I confuse you.”

He felt as if lying to her would only end up hurting himself, in the end. He didn’t want to go down as the Elvenking who ruined elf and dwarf relations for eternity over a... well. It certainly would be one for the songs.

He decided to put it as plainly as he could. “I hadn’t expected a woman.”

He half-expected to be slapped, and was surprised when it didn’t happen. It was close, though; Thorin was bristled like an angry cat, eyes glowing like a furnace. “Few do,” she said, her voice, though full of bridled fury, still solid as stone and just as heavy. “I’ve lain with non-dwarfs before—Men, always, never Elves. Odd Men, queer men… But, I suppose, even elf lads lack beards.”

“I believe you misunderstand me, my prince.”

“Do I?” She waved her hand dismissively. “I’ve known your kind before, King of Mirkwood. You probably think us dwarfs are borne of stone—“

“You have not,” Thranduil said, voice even, “known my kind before, for I am a kind all my own. Now, do sit, lovely one, for I find it hard to carry conversation when you’re standing there like that.”

A slight redness colored her nose, though she did nothing else that showed even a hint of modesty as she strode over to the bed and sat beside him, staring forward with her hands in her lap. “There, I’ve sat. Does this please you?”

“Greatly.” He put his hand under her chin and gently forced her to look up at him, which seemed to cause her more embarrassment than her own nakedness. “I do mean it, dear prince, when I say that you’re lovely. You’re particularly handsome.”

“Are your elven maidens handsome?” she said, still seething, but her anger was starting to lose its vehemence.

“If I desired an elven maiden, I would have one. Note, my prince, that I am not among my own people at this time. If I desired an elven beauty, would I not still be at the feast?” A smile quirked the corner of his lips slightly. “I’m with you, foolish child.”

She huffed and turned her head. “I’m no child,” she said. “I’m a woman, almost grown.”

“Thinking of new things to be upset about is a terribly childish trait. Now,” he said, ignoring her protests, “my lovely, foolish child, you may have found some satisfaction in the hall, but I’ve yet to find any of my own so far this night. What sort of host would you be if nothing was done to change that?”

Thorin’s eyes flickered up towards his. “Shall I undress you, my king?” she asked, though it was hardly a question.

Her fingers fumbled with clasps meant for smaller hands, but she managed to undress him with the same industrial nature she had used on herself, and then they were both as equals once more, with Thranduil lying back on pillows and Thorin sitting between his thighs. She sat there for a while, as if trying to recollect herself.

Thranduil was to have none of that. He leaned forward, cupping the dwarf’s bearded face in his hand, and granted her a truly kind smile. “You’re very beautiful, Thorin,” he said.

It was that, the combination of the (terribly wanted) praise and her name, spoken for the first time, that finally spurred her on. Bracing herself on his hips, she raised herself until she was just touching the tip of his long, slim cock, and lowered herself down with a harsh groan. She gave neither Thranduil nor herself time to adjust

Thorin was rough, all youthful vigor and confidence, her blunt fingernails digging little semi-moons into his sides as she rode him into the furs of her bed. She tried to kiss him, taste him as she moved, though her pace threw off her aim and lead to many reddening bite marks on his jaw and shoulders. 

Thorin found her completion first, for the second time that night, but ground harshly into Thranduil until he came inside her with a stuttering groan. She slipped out of him and collapsed onto the crook of his neck, arm wrapped possessively around his chest.

He kissed her forehead. “My princess,” he said.

She frowned, clearly puzzled. “I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with that word,” she said.

They spent a few moments working through the muddled world of a lingua franca, trying to find the right word in Common for a concept in Sindarin and Khuzdul. In the end, they accepted that it was next to impossible. (This was partially because Thorin remained steadfast in never actually explaining what anything she was saying in Khuzdul actually meant, but that was an entirely different matter.)

“There is no differentiation, in our tongue,” Thorin said, busying herself with strands of Thranduil’s silvery hair. “A prince is merely a prince. As the firstborn child, it is my right to be prince. Is that so strange?”

“The ways of dwarfs are always strange to me.” She looked as if she were about to get offended, a steely look forming in her eye, but he quelled it with another kiss. “In my tongue, you would be a princess.”

A wicked grin bloomed across her face. “I rather like your tongue, my Elvenking,” she said, chuckling at his raised eyebrow. “To you, my king, and only you, I shall be a princess. To my people and the world, I am a prince.”

He placed a finger against his lips and smiled. “Our secret, then,” he said.

The girl smiled, toothy and handsome, and he couldn’t dream of doing anything that would make that smile fade.


End file.
